


Blueberry Wine

by SimplexityJane



Series: Resistance [6]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Character(s) of Color, Laying Bricks, Oh Background Sweet Background
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-03
Updated: 2015-02-03
Packaged: 2018-03-10 09:34:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3285413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SimplexityJane/pseuds/SimplexityJane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the aftermath of Cedric's death, Hermione just wants to be alone. Someone, however, has other plans.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blueberry Wine

Hermione wasn’t sure, really, why she couldn’t go to the Feast. Maybe it was because Harry was alive, and somewhere in a secret place she was grateful for that even if it meant that someone else was _not_.

Cedric had had a name, was beautiful and strong and kind, even though he didn’t have to be. Hermione closed her eyes, leaning against the wall of the corridor and trying to banish his face from her mind. She’d gotten a glimpse of it when they brought him back, enough to know that he’d been afraid. It made heat curl up in a ball in her gut, shame and fear that she would die like that too.

She put her hand up to her mouth to stifle her sob, and that was when she heard the feet walking away from her in this corridor that should have been deserted. Her eyes opened with a flash, and she saw Pansy Parkinson, eyes wide, standing completely still. She had been backing away, and her face had tears on it too. She was holding a bottle.

“Is that wine?” Hermione asked. Her voice was choked up, and she cleared her throat. “We’re not permitted to have alcohol at school.”

Pansy frowned, looking at the bottle and then at Hermione. She had gotten a growth spurt in the past few months, towering over the other girls and some of the shorter boys, but Hermione had a feeling, based on her own parents’ heights and her recent exhaustion and shrinking robes, that she was going to catch up very soon.

She was going to be very pretty one day, with her straight black hair and pale skin. She had that look that all Purebloods who weren’t severely inbred did, but Hermione was certain that Cho Chang had said she and Pansy were second cousins.

“Well, I reckon we should get rid of this, then. I imagine it’ll be easier with someone to share it.”

Hermione almost refused, but she didn’t. She didn’t want to go back to the Feast or to a teacher, and she didn’t want to go home, back to parents who were in danger just because she existed.

“That does seem like it would work,” she said, and Pansy actually smiled. She could have been plotting for all Hermione knew, but she couldn’t afford to think like that now.

Not yet. After the summer, after Pansy and the rest of the Slytherins went home to houses where they might be expected to choose, just like Hermione had been expected to choose the first time she’d heard the word mudblood.

The wine tasted like blueberries and something – well, alcoholic, Hermione presumed, taking a large swallow from her transfigured goblet. They had transfigured them out of specks of dust, Pansy’s a silver chalice with vines creeping over it and Hermione’s bronze, lightning spread throughout.

Pansy and Hermione had always competed for top marks in Transfiguration. Even Malfoy, who had a lot of power and was stubborn, wasn’t as good.

They drank in silence in their corner of the castle, Hermione letting her tears run free while Pansy wiped hers away discreetly. When they emptied the bottle, Pansy transfigured it into a wall hanging, humming and adding a twist that turned it Hufflepuff colors. They both looked at it, and Hermione felt the beginnings of drunkenness in her limbs and her mind.

“He shouldn’t have died like that,” Pansy said, and Hermione wanted to ask how the hell Pansy knew how he’d died. She continued, though. “Wizards shouldn’t die young.”

“It happens. It’s awful, but it’s war, and war is…”

“Hell? That’s because of you lot.” Pansy laughed, and Hermione actually looked at her. She was crying, nose turned red, and she glared at Hermione through the tears. “Lords are supposed to protect people in their halls, Granger, but do you think your Lord is going to let any of us in? He’d be a fool to do it, and we know it, so we don’t have a choice. Am I wrong?”

Of course Hermione wanted to say that she was wrong, but she remembered Sirius Black, locked away for twelve years because Dumbledore believed that a Black was untrustworthy, despite _everything_ that man had ever done.

“You’re not wrong, but your Lord is no better than mine, and he’s more likely to kill you in your sleep.”

Pansy shook her head.

“He’s not my Lord, and if I had anything to say about it, which I don’t, by the way, he never would be.” She drew her dark wand and waved it at the goblets, turning them to what they had always been. “My mother, however, believes in him. So undoubtedly we will face each other on the battlefield in a matter of a few years, and I suppose that’s that.”

Hermione grabbed Pansy’s wrist, glaring around her own fresh tears. Her hair was starting to bush out even more, and she feared what her magic might do, uncontained with alcohol fueling it.

“I won’t kill you, Pansy. I swear.” She couldn’t swear that she wouldn’t kill anyone, and that made her want to be sick all over the cobblestones. But Pansy Parkinson, yes, she thought she could avoid that.

“Are you going to swear by Merlin and your magic, or am I to expect Gryffindor honor to uphold your end of the bargain?” Pansy asked. Hermione could smell her perfume, something flowery that she hadn’t expected. Pansy grinned.

“Bargain?” Hermione asked, and Pansy rolled her eyes. She didn’t try to take back her wand hand, though.

“I won’t kill you, you won’t kill me. Call it a mutually beneficial arrangement if you wish, but I personally would prefer to know that at least someone on the other side won’t send deadly spells my way. Of course, most Gryffindors wouldn’t dare swear by their magic, not when Merlin would actually take it away if you broke the terms.”

Merlin didn’t really exist, Hermione wanted to say. Even most wizards knew that, but it wouldn’t matter if she said that now, not when there was a chance that someone _wouldn’t_ be trying to kill her in the next few years.

“I swear by Merlin and my magic, my magic be forfeit if I am forsworn, to use less than lethal force against you, Pansy Parkinson, if we find ourselves on opposing sides of the battlefield.” She felt the magic shiver into place, and Pansy’s eyes went wide. “I learned everything I could about this world, especially the sorts of oaths that make it into books about the Founders.”

Pansy grinned, then.

“I swear by Merlin and my magic, my magic be forfeit if I am forsworn, to use less than lethal force against you, Hermione Granger, if we find ourselves on opposing sides of the battlefield.”

Then she kissed Hermione, mouth tasting like blueberries, and ran away before Hermione could hex her for that.

 _Many of the old families were suspicious of each other, and wished to use a more binding ritual than the threat of stolen magic_ , she read later that night, convinced she’d missed something with Pansy. _In the case of Aethelred Weasley, he had no kin, hall, nor Lord to call his, so when Cnut’s court sorcerer approached him with terms of surrender, he devised a new ritual, one which William the Squib later adapted. In it the old vows were used, but after the sharing of a cup created by magic. He embraced the man as a brother after the oaths were made, and it is supposed that the magic he created enabled the peace relations to continue beyond that. Very few families know the exact details of this ritual in full, but it is said to be quite powerful. Only those with the strongest wills have successfully attempted it._

Hermione thought about that, and smiled.

Voldemort didn’t understand what was happening right under his nose, and that was going to destroy him.


End file.
